The Joker and the Thief
by BaddestWolf
Summary: London is plagued by a high-end jewel thief, known only as the Magician. Detective Inspector Pendragon has been assigned the case, and it will likely end his career. Modern AU, sociopath!Merlin, obsessed!Arthur, eventual Arwen and Merthur. WIP.
1. The Magician

**1. The Magician**

* * *

><p>He slid he newspaper towards himself across the table, narrowing his eyes at the headline. <em><strong>Magician Strikes Again: Third Heist This Month, Scotland Yard Remains Baffled<strong>_ covered the first page in bold, accusatory print. Sighing, Detective Inspector Arthur Pendragon pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought the urge to toss the paper across the room.

He stood up from his desk and wandered over to the coffeemaker, mug in hand, only to find that someone had left the pot empty. He cursed under his breath and replaced the filter. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he listed all of the case data he could remember in his head: dates, times, locations, items, MOs. But it wasn't so much the crimes that intrigued him; it was the criminal. Scotland Yard had every discernible detail of the crimes well documented. But not a single person could tell him who their perpetrator was. No name, no face, no record, nothing tying him to the scenes. He was a shadow, a ghost that had yet to make a mistake. Or he was a magician. Maybe the tabloids were right, after all.

The slow drip of coffee into the pot had finally subsided. He poured half of the new pot into his mug before replacing it for the next person who came along. Taking a few sips (now was not the time to worry about cream and sugar) he sat back down and tried to keep his eyes away from the newspaper. Instead, he pulled a stack of case files over and spread them across the desk. They had to have missed something. Pendragon had only been assigned the case three days ago, after the original investigator's search provided no new or useful information. The trail had gone cold until yesterday's heist. But this case already felt like a career-killer.

The soft noise of someone clearing their throat broke his concentration. He looked up to see a pretty young woman hovering a few feet from the front of his desk, looking sheepish. An intern of some sort, if memory served. "Yes?"

"I don't mean to disturb you, Detective, but I've just finished my filing and I wanted to know if I should lock up on my way out. Everyone else has gone home for the night, sir."

He glanced at the clock. 11:45. Damn. "No, no, it's fine. I can do it when I leave." He turned back to his case files, then caught himself being rude. "Thank you..…"

"Gwen," she replied quietly and then turned to leave, he footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Resigning himself to the fact that he probably wasn't going home any time soon, he began flipping idly through the crime scene reports, looking for discrepancies. "Come on, Arthur, it's got to be here somewhere," he scolded himself as he leaned back in his chair.

He sat for hours, trying to connect small bits of information that had no business being connected. He made lists. He drew diagrams. He drank three full pots of coffee. The next time he looked at the clock, it was 4:17. Groaning, he laid his forehead on his desk.

Something was shaking the desk. Arthur's eyes snapped open and he glared at the mn standing above him. "Gwaine?"

"You been here all night, Pendragon?" Gwaine asked, trying not to laugh at the dark circles under his partner's eyes. He almost felt bad.

"Mmhmm," Arthur managed to mumble out as he picked up his head and tried to wipe the sleep from his blue eyes.

"Any progress?"

"I've got nothing Gwaine," Arthur admitted tiredly, "The guy might as well not exist. The only evidence we have that crimes are even being committed is that priceless art and jewels keep going missing. It's like they're disappearing out of thin air."

Gwaine shrugged and held out a small manila envelope.

"What's this?" Arthur eyed it suspiciously before reaching out to take it.

"Dunno. Found it slipped under the door when I came in. It's a addressed to you, look."

And so it was. _**Attn: A. Pendragon**_ was stamped on the front of the envelope in elegant script. Warily, Arthur slid a finger under the seal and dumped the contents onto his desk. A single cream-colored notecard clattered out.

_**Detective Carleon didn't want to play**_

_**But you're much smarter than him.**_

_**Look harder. I'll be waiting.**_

_**ME**_

Arthur glanced up at Gwaine, who mirrored his surprised expression. Carleon had been the principal investigator at the first two crime scenes. Apparently, the Magician knew his case had changed hands.

"We can't know for sure it's him," Gwaine said as he inspected the tiny card.

"It's him," Arthur replied, running a hand through his golden hair. He had no solid evidence, but somehow he was sure he was right.

"Get me another cup of coffee," Arthur instructed Gwaine.

Gwaine made an offended noise, but snatched Arthur's mug off of the desk and headed for the coffeemaker anyway. "The Superintendant's not going to be too happy with this particular development," Gwaine called over his shoulder, "You know how he feels about letter-writing criminals."

Arthur sighed. He'd forgotten. "My father doesn't need to know about this particular bit of evidence just yet. The man's a thief, but as far as I can tell, he has yet to harm anyone. Father already thinks he's some psychopath with a crazy master plan we have yet to riddle out."

Gwaine placed the mug back onto Arthur's desk. "How do we know he's not?"

"He's a sociopath at his worst. Puzzles and games, money and power. He's not crazy. If I wasn't an officer of the law, I might call him a genius. Look at the files, Gwaine. It's brilliant. And _I'm_ going to catch him. Of course Carleon didn't play; he investigates the same way may father does."

"I'm all for puzzles, but are you sure this is wise, Arthur?"

Arthur just laughed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee and glaring at Gwaine over the rim of the mug. "Well, take a seat, take a file, let's go."

As Gwaine sat poring over the files, Arthur rested his head in his hands, staring at the notecard on his desk. He had memorized it within a matter of minutes. His eyes scanned over it, searching. Every word, every space, every letter. He suddenly slammed a hand down on the desk, causing Gwaine to jump beside him.

Arthur practically shoved the notecard at his partner, ecstatic. "The E. Why would he capitalize the E?"


	2. Blueprints

**2. Blueprints**

* * *

><p>He walked casually down the steps of the station, flipping the collar of his dark wool trenchcoat up against the wind. His dark hair had been neat when he'd left his flat, but the wind was whipping it in all directions now. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Merlin crossed the street, eliciting angry honks from oncoming cars.<p>

He sincerely hoped Pendragon was a more interesting man than Carleon. He could steal as many things as he wanted, but unless someone with at least half a brain in their head was out to stop him from doing so, there wasn't really much sport in it. He was beginning to get a bit bored with London already. Magician was one of the better nicknames he'd been given over the years, though, so he was willing to wait a bit longer, if only to keep the sobriquet.

Once he reached the other side of the road, he slowed his pace, walking lazily through the morning chill. He lived less than a mile from the station, but he was in no hurry to get home. He carefully observed the few people that passed him as he walked along. Not many people were out; it was too late for the ones who stayed out all night, and too early for those rising to go to work.

He couldn't stop his mind from wondering about his new nemesis. From what he'd gleaned already, Arthur Pendragon would be much more tolerable than the detective he replaced. A little part of him even dared to hope that he'd enjoy playing the game, that maybe, finally, someone would outsmart him. It was unlikely, but having never been outsmarted before, Merlin was rather curious as to what it would feel like.

Turning onto the corner of his own street, Merlin stopped in front of a coffee shop on the corner, debating whether or not to go inside. After a few minutes, he stepped inside, very aware that he was the first customer of the morning.

"Hello, sir," an elderly man with a broad smile popped out from behind the counter, looking a little frazzled. "What can I getcha?"

"Coffee. Black, if you would," Merlin said politely as he approached the counter.

"Oh, sure, sure," said the man while he set about pouring the liquid into a paper cup and affixed the travelers lid. "Will that be all, sir?"

"That's all," Merlin replied and handed the man triple the amount of money necessary to pay for his simple order. "Keep the change." He turned on his heel and walked back out into the brisk morning air, taking small sips of his coffee as he headed back home.

When he reached his flat, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open and Merlin cringed. The only complaint he had about this place was the damn squeaky doors. He shut the door behind him and put his cup of coffee down on the kitchen counter without bothering to turn on any lights.

He stood there for a few seconds in the darkness, the silence, hoping Pendragon found his letter soon. The anticipation was killing him. "Ah, well, back to work," he mumbled to himself and he leaned over the counter to flip on the kitchen light.

The dining room table was covered in papers, wires, blueprints, pencils, calculators, surveillance photos and a number of other oddities that helped Merlin perform his magic. Hanging on the wall above the table was a Monet, recently acquired from the National Gallery. _Flood Waters_ it was called, and it had always been one of his favorites. He smiled up at the painting, then sat down across from it at the table.

He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall against the back of the chair. He leaned back, intertwining his fingers at the back of his head. "Mmm, you _are _going to be a tough one to get into."

Leaning forward again, he hunched over the table and pulled a set of blueprints toward him and snatched a pencil from a jar on the table. He stared at the blueprints, unblinking for a few minutes. There were two ways in, but neither were foolproof. As he pondered his options, Merlin smacked the pencil on the edge of the table, hoping it would help him think. When that didn't work, he tried biting the pencil and eventually, snapping the pencil in half. While the latter was somewhat gratifying, it didn't help him make his decision.

He stood up, pacing the kitchen a few times before grabbing his coffee from the counter, chugging it, then tossing the cup into the trashcan in the corner of the room. "You're a damn LIBRARY," he yelled at the table, waving his arms in frustration. "Why are you the most complicated building to break into in all of England?"

Sighing, Merlin pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tossed it across the room to the couch, He slid out of his pants as well, tossing them onto the couch, too, and then wandered in the direction of the bathroom.

He turned the shower on, making sure the water was as hot as he could get it. He waited a few minutes for the room to steam up, drawing pictures on the mirror with one long finger. When he decided it was steamy enough, he turned the knob a little, just enough so the water wouldn't burn him. He stepped into the shower and let the water wash over him.

Closing his eyes, he envisioned the British Library. He ran scenario after scenario in his head, and none of them ended well. Instead, he let his mind latch on to his new case detective. How would he react to the letter? Was he even good enough to figure out who he was _just_ from the information he'd been given? Probably not. But if he was…oh, if he was…

He stopped that thought process. Couldn't get his hopes up yet. Pendragon hadn't proven himself at all, he'd just proven that he wasn't Carleon. And while that was an achievement in and of itself, it was nothing to hang hope on.

Merlin closed his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair as he considered his options. He'd been under the water long enough that his skin was red and it was starting to hurt in the spots that the water hit most often. He ran the plans through his head, watching every step, playing out all of the possible outcomes.

Suddenly his blue eyes snapped open and a wicked grin crossed his face. He was considering doing something so incredibly reckless, so wildly stupid that it would just have to work. He turned off the shower and snatched a towel from behind the door, wrapping it around his waist as he walked back to the kitchen.

Water dripped along behind him as he went, but he didn't pay it any attention. He sat back down in his chair and glanced up at his Monet before turning to the blueprints in front of him. He grabbed another pencil and mapped out a few calculations on the margin of the paper. He reached out and snagged a camera from the other side of the table and played back a video, making sure it corroborated his math. It did.

"Oh, my dear Detective Inspector Pendragon, you're going to _love _this."


	3. Thanks, Interpol

**3. Thanks, Interpol**

* * *

><p>"Oh, come on, you can't possibly be that dense," Pendragon said as Gwaine gaped at the card in front of him, not really following his partner's train of thought in the slightest.<p>

"I dunno. Suggests arrogance maybe, assuming we'd know exactly who 'me' was? Or he just likes capital letters?" Gwaine threw his hands up in mock defeat. "You've obviously got an idea. Just tell me already."

Arthur sighed and placed the card back down on the desk in front of him with a smile. "He didn't sign it 'me'. He signed it M. E. His initials."

Gwaine's eyes widened considerably as he mulled this over and glanced back down at the notecard. "Brilliant. But, how does that help us, exactly?"

Arthur took a few swigs of his coffee and drummed his fingers against the desk. "Still working on that. One step at a time."

"Right," Gwaine replied as he tossed the file he'd been holding back onto the pile in front of Arthur. "Well, while you figure that out, I'm going to go do something that has a chance of actually paying off. Promised Percy I'd help him with that stock fraud deal he's been working."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Gwaine as he left, shouting "You're _my _partner!" down the hall.

"Forever and always," Gwaine called back with a laugh as he turned around the corner in search of Inspector Percival.

Arthur shook his head and pushed some papers around. He blinked a few times, making sure he was fully awake before he reached across the desk and opened his laptop. He typed his password quickly and pulled up his database search engine.

The cursor blinked at him from the search box like it was taunting him. Arthur stared at it indignantly for a minute or two. _Someone this good must have a rap sheet a mile long _he thought, _or he's never been caught at all. _He typed, 'M E, theft, larceny, artwork, jewels' into the box and hit enter, hoping one of the criminal databases would give him something.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair when he saw what came up. 15,427 hits. Either he was going to have to narrow down the field some, or he'd still be searching for this guy when he was wearing dentures. He picked up a pencil and leaned back in his chair, knocking it rhythmically on the edge of the desk as he stared at the screen.

Arthur scrolled through the first few pages that came up, but there was just too much information to deal with. After a few more swigs of coffee, he finally came to his senses and narrowed the search by date (1960-present), then excluded people who were primarily of the bank-robbing persuasion. He nearly choked on his coffee when, even after that, there were still 4,176 possibilities.

"Jesus Christ, that's a lot of high end thieves," he coughed out as he put his mug down and pushed it off to the side of the desk, where he'd be less tempted to keep swigging away. "Maybe they shouldn't be cutting department funding after all."

He leaned back again, glancing at the screen, then the stack of files. _This is a guy who shanghais Monets. If anyone in the world had a chance of crossing paths with him it'd be…._

Arthur sat up quickly and narrowed his search again, typing 'Interpol' into one of the subfield boxes. "Now we're getting somewhere," He said, rubbing his hands together when this cut the number of prospects drastically to only 128.

He considered trying to narrow the search a bit more, but 128 people wasn't a horrible amount to have to scroll through. And the Magician was less likely to fall through the cracks this way. Sighing heavily, he leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands and started to read criminal file after criminal file.

About halfway through the list, he got up and stretched his arms over his head then shuffled over to the coffeemaker, clutching his mug for dear life. Just as he started to pour a new cup, someone from behind him slapped him on the back lightly.

"How's that case from hell treating you, Pendragon?" Arthur turned around to see Cenred flash him a toothy grin. _Ugh, just what I need._

"I think I'll live through it," Arthur cut back through clenched teeth.

"Oh, too bad," Cenred said as he took the coffeepot from Arthur's hands. Arthur took a sip of his coffee and walked away. It was all he could do not to punch Cenred in his obnoxious face right then and there. He imagined the Superintendant would bust him down a few ranks for assaulting his superiors, though in the long run it might be worth it.

He settled back down at his desk and picked up the file Gwaine had put back when he left. It said essentially the same thing as all the others did. No alarms. No video camera footage. No fingerprints. No evidence of forced entry. Something shiny or priceless disappears. Somebody calls Scotland Yard.

"Okay," Arthur announced, propping the Magician's notecard at the edge of his keyboard. "I'm not convinced you even exist."

"Talking to your computer, Detective?" There was a soft knock on the doorframe and Gwen's bright brown eyes caught his as she looked in at him.

"Occupational hazard," he said with an embarrassed wave of his hand. "Was there something you needed?"

"Oh, um…" She walked in and handed him a stack of papers. "The Superintendant wanted me to give these to you."

He took the papers from her, looking worried. "They're the transcripts from the tip hotline. I…I typed them up myself. There's a lot, but I don't know if any of it will be helpful."

"Thank you," He said, flipping through the pages before he laid them next to his stack of files and went back to scrolling through criminals.

Gwen stood there with her hands behind her back meekly for a few seconds before she realized he'd forgotten she was there. She dipped her head and slipped out, a blush creeping across her cheeks. Detective Inspector Pendragon didn't see any of it. He was too busy staring at the most blurry image he'd ever seen in his life.

The image was from a museum security camera in Prague. Though, how anyone could be sure of that, he didn't really know. All he could make out was a light gray background over which a dark gray blob was superimposed. The blob could've been a person, but the resolution was so bad it was just as likely that it might be a dead beetle squished against the lens at an odd angle.

The top of the screen read '_**Alias: Merlin Emrys, Aurelius Ambrosius, Martin Wales; Real name unknown.**_'

Arthur stifled a laugh with another sip of coffee. "God, if Merlin's my Magician, I might just jump into the Thames."

As he continued to read, though, he started to see some disturbing similarities.

_**Suspected crimes:  
><strong>__**Receiving stolen property, Russia, 2006  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, Czech Republic, 2007  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, two counts, France, 2008  
><strong>__**Selling stolen property, France, 2008  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, Belgium, 2008  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, Switzerland, 2008  
><strong>__**Receiving stolen property, four counts, Spain, 2010  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, Spain, 2011  
><strong>__**Burglary, Northern Ireland, 2011  
><strong>__**Grand larceny, Northern Ireland, 2011**_

_**Convicted crimes:  
><strong>__**None**_

_**Time served:  
><strong>__**None**_

_**Known associates:  
><strong>__**None**_

All in all, Interpol had not been particularly helpful. But, the timeline fit. And this Merlin Emrys had the right initials and was moving in generally the right direction across Europe. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Pendragon pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial number 4. "Get up here." He barked into the receiver as soon as Gwaine picked up. "I need you to see this, just so I know I'm not losing it."


	4. Candygram

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up. New job has been keeping me super busy. I'll try to update faster...

* * *

><p><strong>4. Candygram<strong>

* * *

><p>"Yes, yes, that's the one. Can you do it?" Merlin asked into his phone. He was leaning back in the chair in his kitchen with his legs crossed and propped up on the table. "Four days? I can work with that. Mmm? Oh, yes, thank you."<p>

He hung up the phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He may as well have turned it off. Only three people in the entire world had that number, and none of them were likely to call. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. It had taken more effort than it normally did for him to get in touch with Mordred.

The kid was bright, but he was even more prone to extended disappearing spells than Merlin was. He also happened to be the best forger this side of the Atlantic, and when you needed the kid's help, you needed the kid's help. Sighing, Merlin slid his feet to the floor and glanced around the kitchen wearily. "What _am _I going to do for four days?"

He went to the movies. Twice. He bought a copy of _Anna Karenina_ and read the first few chapters before he gave up. There was too much adrenaline in his veins to read Tolstoy. He stopped by the coffee shop at the end of the road a few times; they were always happy to see him coming because he never asked for his change. Ever.

After three days of wandering around London like this, he couldn't take it anymore. Besides, it would probably do him some good to look at the blueprints again. He groaned at the squeak in his door as he pushed it open and tossed his keys across the room to the coffee table. Turning into the kitchen, he realized he'd forgotten to clear everything off the table, so the blueprints and notes and everything else were still spread out in front of him.

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he sat down. One or two black strands fell back into his eyes as he pushed a few papers around. Mordred's package was supposed to arrive tomorrow morning, and then the rest should be easy. This wasn't his normal method, but since he'd grown increasingly bored in London, he figured he might as well put on a show. There was a tiny portion of his brain wondering if tomorrow was the day he'd finally get caught. In the end, he decided it was unlikely.

He paced back and forth through the kitchen and the living room for a bit, before tossing himself bodily across his bed. Sighing, he shoved his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. There was one more thing he needed to do, but he had to get the wording just right. He must have fallen asleep thinking about it, because when he jerked awake, panting slightly, it was already dark outside.

Merlin glanced at the clock. 1:15. He stripped off his clothes and chucked them toward the far corner of the room, but he didn't bother to check if they'd made it to their intended destination before he pushed back the covers on the bed and curled up under them. A solid night's sleep would be essential. He had a long day ahead of him.

When he woke, his mouth was dry and he shuffled into the kitchen, half in a daze, for a glass of water. He gulped down nearly two full glasses before he was satisfied that he hadn't been licking the carpet in the middle of the night.

Just as Merlin was contemplating which pair of pants to throw on, there was a soft knock at the front door. He went over and slid the deadbolt out of place and cracked the door. An old, hunched man stared up at him with watery eyes and held a box out to him. It was bright pink and topped with an opalescent bow. "Candygram," the old man huffed, apparently blissfully unaware that candygram delivery people were usually expected to smile.

"Well," Merlin muttered under his breath as he snatched the box out of the man's hands, testing the weight. "Mordred's getting a little too creative for his own good."

"Mmph," The man shrugged noncommittally and flicked the edge of his cap before turning around and leaving Merlin in his doorway blinking down at the pink box. He tucked it under his arm and went back inside, laying it gingerly on the kitchen table.

"Okay," Merlin said brightly, finally feeling all of the pieces fall into place. "Time to have some fun."

He dressed quickly, donning black pants and shoes. He pulled a thick cream-colored turtleneck over his head and slicked his hair back, just enough to keep it out of his face. He flipped a black fedora onto his head and checked the mirror just to make sure it matched the turtleneck. Once that was done, he took a few last minute pictures of the blueprints on his phone, before stashing them away in a closet.

Merlin shrugged his trenchcoat over his shoulders and slipped his phone into the pocket. He slid an expensive briefcase across the table and tossed the normal items inside: pens, day planner, an empty notebook or two. Then he traced across the fabric at the back until he found the catch, opening a hidden compartment.

He took the pink box and ripped off the bow, tossing it idly to the side. Lifting the lid, he smiled as he pulled out the pristine document. He held it up to the light and marveled at the quality. The paper was real. _Only_ Mordred would have 800 year old parchment on hand in case someone called him needing a favor. If he hadn't known it was a fake, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to spot it unless it was sitting right on top of the original.

Carefully, he slid it into the lead-lined compartment and snapped the briefcase shut. He snatched a piece of paper from the table and jotted a few words onto a notecard, stuffing it into his pocket against his phone. With one final sweep around the apartment, he made a mental check to be sure he wasn't forgetting anything, then stepped out into the windy morning.

The walk to the library actually seemed to calm him as he ran his plan through his head over and over. It was either going to go off without a hitch, or he'd be completely done for. There was no middle ground on this one. The heels of his shoes clacked on the sidewalk as he went, keeping him mentally tied to the matter at hand. Before long, he found himself standing across the street, the building looming large in front of him. He took a breath and squared his shoulders, his grip on his briefcase tightening almost imperceptibly.

He crossed the street, just another businessman in the sea of London businessmen. He climbed the stairs and opened the door, striding through like he was a seasoned professor there to do hours of research. A guard stopped him as he went in, nodding to the briefcase without obvious malicious intent. "Gonna have to check that before you can go in."

"By all means," Merlin relied, sliding it across the security desk with an unreadable expression.


End file.
